


O My Songs

by curiouswildflower



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic, Howling Commandos - Freeform, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Survivor Guilt, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 16:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21176801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouswildflower/pseuds/curiouswildflower
Summary: Steve remembering, living, adjusting.-O my songs,Why do you look so eagerly and so curiously into people’s faces,Will you find your lost dead among them?(Ezra Pound)





	O My Songs

O my songs,

Why do you look so eagerly and so curiously into people’s faces,

Will you find your lost dead among them?

(Ezra Pound)

\--

The thing is, Steve hadn’t tripped over his feet in almost ten years. Well. Almost eighty years. He remembered tripping on the fourth step up to the place he shared with Bucky, even after Bucky replaced the rotted nails. But no stinging palms and scraped knees since well before he had a body that wasn’t supposed to do things like trip.

Steve sat heavily onto his hip. Might as well take a minute to catch his breath, while he was here. On the ground.

He dug the water bottle out of his pocket and watched the owners of the restaurant across the street arrange tables and chairs on the sidewalk. Steve glanced down, hissing through his teeth as he poured water across his palms. Just because his hands would heal by the time he got back to their apartment didn’t mean they didn’t sting. He thought of Bucky calling him a wimp.

He shoved the closed water bottle back into his pocket and stood, shaking his head to rid himself of Bucky’s lingering smirk. Rid himself of the lingering face of the biker that blew past him who looked just like Falsworth.

“Coffee’s in the pot,” Bucky called from the direction of the living room. Steve shucked off his damp sweatshirt and sneakers by the front door, leaving his water bottle on the counter as he fetched a mug from the drying rack. He decided not to leave room for creamer; shivered as rainwater dripped from his hairline down his neck.

Bucky smiled up at Steve as he entered the living room, sliding his metal thumb into the crease of his book without lowering his arm. “I heard the rain come in.”

His face changed as Steve settled in next to him, cradling his coffee and tucking his feet up onto the couch. Steve glanced over a few sentences of Bucky’s book, trying to puzzle out what he was reading. They weren’t all Steve’s books anymore, he might not recognize it.

Bucky’s finger tapped his sore knee before he curled his hand around Steve’s foot. “What happened?”

Steve looked out the window at the rumble of thunder. The buildings across the street looked almost grey against the overcast sky, like a black and white picture. “Read to me?”

The hand on his foot squeezed gently. Steve leaned his weight into Bucky’s side and sipped his coffee as Bucky began to read.

\--

The sticky wind barely stirred the blanket Steve pulled tight across his shoulders. Someone kicked his exposed boot, toe-to-toe, and Steve kicked back automatically.

“Let me sleep, Buck,” he grumbled, turning his face into his pack.

The voice that answered him rumbled in a language he didn’t understand, and Steve tensed. He cracked one eye, breath leaving him at the unmistakable hulk of the Winter Soldier sitting beside him. Steve pushed up onto his elbows slowly, heart racing as the Soldier’s face remained fixed on rest of the sleeping men. 

Except – they weren’t sleeping. They were talking – Steve turned to look, anger flaring in him at the sight of the Howlies laughing and talking around a dangerously unnecessary fire. No wonder the Soldier found them –

A metal hand fisted around his ankle as Steve pushed himself upright. He couldn’t make out what the men were saying, were they speaking French? The Soldier’s hand gripped even tighter around his ankle, cutting into his skin – his skin? – as he whispered, “Not anymore.”

“Steve, come on pal, breathe for me-“

Steve gasped awake, coming into his body all at once – the warm hand pressed against his chest, the sweat gathered at his temples, the sheets tangled around his ankles.

“There ya go.” Bucky murmured, propped up on his metal elbow while his other palm soothed down Steve’s side. Steve grabbed Bucky’s right hand with his left, twining their fingers and pressing Bucky’s palm against his face.

“Jesus, you’re burning up.”

Steve held onto Bucky’s hand as long as he could as Bucky leaned back, letting go as Bucky fished a half-full water bottle off the nightstand behind him. He stayed on his elbow as Steve sat up far enough to finish it, returning the bottle to his nightstand before coaxing Steve to lay back down. 

The haze of the dream lingered on Steve’s skin, itching like his regulation blanket had. Steve kicked the covers off the end of the bed, shoving his head under Bucky’s chin and dragging his arm over his waist.

“Talk to me Stevie,” Bucky said, voice rumbling where Steve’s ear pressed against his metal shoulder. “You feel okay?”

“Do you know French?”

Bucky traced loops across Steve’s shoulders with his finger. Steve felt aware of every place their bodies touched – too hot even in the slow breeze from the open window above their heads. 

“Probably. Did I know it before?”

Steve shook his head. “Neither of us did. Gabe and Dernier tried to teach us. You’re better at languages than I was, even after the serum.”

Bucky’s finger followed the bumps of Steve’s spine, and Steve found himself exhaling as it went. “Gabe was black?”

Steve nodded.

“I remember him. He knew languages. He’d talk to me when I couldn’t sleep.”

“Did it work?”

Bucky answered him in a language Steve didn’t recognize, and with the rumble of cars outside the window and Bucky’s steady breathing, Steve drifted back to sleep.

\--

Steve turned, leaning back with his elbows against the railing. Bucky looped his metal arm through Steve’s left, leaned next to him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

A man down the pier caught Steve’s attention. Almost a head shorter than Steve, the same round face as the little boy in his arms, pointing at something on the horizon. The man’s moustache followed the curve of his smile as he watched the boy squinting out into the distance.

Bucky’s metal shoulder whirred softly as he tilted into Steve’s side.

“Everyone’s looking. It’s like they’re waiting.”

“Looking at the water?”

Steve nodded.

“I wouldn’t say waiting.”

“What would you say?”

Bucky turned, just enough to see past Steve down the pier. Steve could see him in his periphery, could just see the low sun over his shoulder, flickering between strands of Bucky’s loose hair as the wind tossed it gently.

“Admiring.”

Steve nodded again. “Okay.”

Bucky turned his gaze back toward the water. The waves were loud against the beams below them, tossing up the smell of the sea against the heavy haze of motors and fryer oil. If Steve closed his eyes he could convince himself he was back there. Here.

“Do you remember coming here?” Steve indulged himself the question. He usually tried not to ask it.

Bucky was quiet. “I don’t. Want to tell me?”

Steve settled his weight back into the railing. He wanted to cross his arms but didn’t want to dislodge Bucky. Instead he raised the hand of the arm linked with Bucky’s and ran his fingers slowly down the grooves in the metal as he picked through his memories.

“I had to convince you not to swim. You were desperate to, but we had a beach we could go to some other time and you’d’ve ruined your work clothes. And I couldn’t come in after you.”

Bucky’s mouth curled up. “You could come after me now.”

Steve glanced over, heart thumping at the curve of Bucky’s grin. “I bet the ocean remembers you.”

Bucky unlaced their arms, curling his fingers around Steve’s hip and pulling him closer against Bucky’s side. “That’s a pretty thought, Stevie.”

Steve indulged himself again, landing his kiss square on Bucky’s lips.

\--

There was something comfortable to laying this way – they’d always fit like this, Bucky’s head pillowed on his chest, fingers tracing ticklish patterns across his ribs. It made him feel small, somehow, seeing Bucky’s feet shift against the sheets down by his. Feeling Bucky’s chest move as he caught his breath.

“Remember when Morita caught us?”

Steve laughed and watched Bucky’s handsome face curl into a smirk. “Yeah,” he said, “did he ever talk to you about it after?”

Bucky hummed. “He was discrete. All that comms training. ‘Sides, I think he was hot for you.”

Steve scoffed; Bucky pinched his side. “I’m serious, Stevie. I think he woulda given it to ya good. You don’t think so?”

Steve tried fruitlessly to control the blush he could feel heating his face. “You gave it to me just fine. And plenty. Didn’t need anybody else.”

Bucky hummed again, shifting far enough up on his metal elbow to bite at Steve’s chest. Steve hissed, heating all down his middle, shoving Bucky onto his back and following until he was straddled over him and kissing down to bite his neck in retaliation.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, folks. I'm a sucker for soft Stucky. These boys deserve soft. <3


End file.
